


"So tell us how you met!"

by FruHallbera



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, First Meetings, Hospitals, M/M, Partial Nudity, Public Nudity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2019-10-01
Packaged: 2020-11-09 06:17:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20848871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FruHallbera/pseuds/FruHallbera
Summary: Kylo Ren is suffering from acute boredom in his hospital room until a tall, ginger stranger walks into his life. Well. Sort of.





	"So tell us how you met!"

**Author's Note:**

> This, too, has its origins in Twitter.

The sound of someone rattling the doorknob jolts Kylo out of his reverie. He has just switched from contemplating the clouds passing by his window to observing a helicopter hovering above the city. It makes a slow loop and Kylo spots the local news channel logo on its side. Oh. Just traffic then, nothing interesting. Kylo turns his head to see who’s entering his room. He’s expecting a doctor to finally proclaim him ready to head home, to release him from the mind-numbingly bleak walls and tasteless food and dull routine. He’s not made to stay still and aches to be able to move freely and push his body until it hurts. Even though this was precisely why he ended up in the hospital in the first place.

The door opens and a tall, skinny redhead walks in. Instead of a lab coat or scrubs he’s wearing a pale blue hospital gown and one sock, revealing a pair of milky white legs and knobby knees. Kylo stares dumbfounded when the man walks straight across his room to the small cupboard by the window and moving Kylo’s suit jacket aside steps right in.

“Um. Hello?” Kylo tries. There are a couple of muffled bumps and curses and the man steps out of the closet. He stops on his tracks, frowns at the room at large and levels a glare at his own naked wrist. “Is this train on schedule?”

It doesn’t seem he’s taken anything of Kylo’s - not like there’s anywhere he could put his potential loot, anyway. Kylo was a gentleman and looked away but before he did, he managed to get an eyeful of the pair of pert, round buttocks the hospital gown does so generously display. “I think you got the wrong room, buddy,” he says.

“What?”

“You walked through the wrong door. This is my private room.”

“Nonsense!” The man puts his hands on his hips and sways a little at the impact. He scoffs at Kylo, unable to focus on him until he closes one eye and tries hard with his brow furrowed. His hair falls over his eyes and he swats at it ineffectually, turns round once offering another glimpse of his posterior and stalks to Kylo’s bedside. “In the name of the Empire I hereby claim this vehicle for the service of, of, me.”

Kylo takes in his wide, wild eyes and how he seems to vibrate even when standing still. An understanding dawns. His visitor seems to have escaped the clutches of his assigned medical team before whatever treatment is scheduled for him. He reaches for the call button to summon a nurse, but at the same moment the man tries to push him off the bed and the button drops to the floor. “They are after me,” he says conspirationally. “I need this car.”

“Not gonna move,” Kylo tells him flatly. Up close he can see the grey-green irises around the dilated pupils and the pale gold of his eyelashes. The man is very handsome with his high cheekbones and soft jawline and full mouth, even with his hair an unruly flame-red mop atop his head. He shoves Kylo one more time, grunting with the effort. Then, to Kylo’s surprise, he clambers on the bed and kneels between Kylo’s legs. “Very well, flyboy, have it your way then! You can pilot us out of here. Start your engines!” He turns around to grab the footboard and leans forwards. Kylo groans and balls his fists in frustration. Once again real life fails to live up to the fantasy of a porn film or dozen Kylo has watched on the theme of hospital rooms and cute twink nurses tending to their big, buff patients.

He’s literally face to face with a perfect pair of peachy buttocks and completely unable to fully appreciate them or even think about touching them.

“How about you turn around, buddy? It’ll be better for the both of us, trust me.” Kylo keeps his gaze locked to the ceiling until his guest has managed to turn his lithe frame around on the bed. He hums a happy little tune, wiggles until he’s sitting comfortably cross-legged and then suddenly scowls at Kylo. ”I cannot accept your deal, Your Honour. My client is very important.”

“I’m not particularly honourable,” Kylo tells him. He should be annoyed, angry even, but finds himself to be quite thoroughly amused instead. “I’ve been accused of much but can’t recall being honourable has ever featured in the top ten.”

The redhead has already lost interest in Kylo’s life story. His gaze wanders from Kylo to the horrible painting behind him to the bedside table and stops at the empty lunch tray. “Pudding,” he sighs and actually tears up a little. “Did I – did I bring you pudding? I brought you pudding. I _ate_ your pudding!” His face falls and tears start flowing freely from his eyes. “I don’t like pudding!” he sobs and crumples against Kylo’s chest.

Kylo freezes, trying to grab a hold of any of the thoughts flying through his mind. He pats the crying man’s back awkwardly, hoping he doesn’t accidentally touch bare skin and cause more trouble. He tries to come up with something to say to distract the man from his tears. He tries to come up with just about anything to distract _himself_ from the fact of how the redhead fits perfectly in the circle of his arms.

“Do you have a name?”

“Wha-?”

“A name. Do you have one of those, buddy? I’m Kylo.”

The man freezes, pudding forgotten, as he sneers at him and actually turns his nose in the air. “You may address me by my husband’s title.” he says frostily.

Kylo feels an interesting combo of piqued curiosity and disappointment. “You have a husband?”

“Husband? What a silly thought. What would I do with a husband? All that pruning and fertilizing and making sure it gets enough light and pruning – no. I have a Millicent. Sweet, sweet Millicent.”

Kylo hesitates to ask but can’t help himself. “Who’s Millicent? Your wife? Daughter?”

“Millicent,” the man repeats, speaking slowly and enunciating each syllable with utmost care. “MIL-LI-CENT. Millie. My Millie.”

Suddenly the man’s face crumbles again, and he heaves a stuttering breath. He falls forward and in a familiar move ends up once more weeping against Kylo’s chest. “She’s so small!” he wails. “My Millie! She’s orange and white and, and, and one of a kind.”

Okay. So not a wife, then. Probably a pet. _Hopefully_ a pet. The man clings to Kylo’s shoulders and once again Kylo pats his back awkwardly, trying to keep as much fabric between his hand and the man’s bare skin as possible. “Uh, buddy, you might want to calm down a bit.”

The man draws in a huge gulp of air and abruptly pushes back, making Kylo see stars when his bruised ribs get the brunt of the man’s weight. He puts his hand on either side of Kylo’s face and squeezes. “We really have to go,” he whispers urgently. “Have you prepared the shuttle?”

“I thought this was a car,” Kylo mutters through his squished cheeks. He eases the man’s grip from his head. “Or a plane.”

“Stop spouting nonsense. The Supreme Leader is expecting me. I must – I must. I must,” he looks Kylo straight in the eye.

“A Supreme Leader, huh? What are you, CIA? MI6?” The man’s thin fingers disappear entirely in Kylo’s grip and he files that thought away to be used later in a more private setting.

“No, it’s only half past eleven,” the man answers and then trails off to stare blankly in the middle distance. He jolts and screams when the door opens, and a nurse pokes her head in. “Here you are,” she declares and turns to say something to the people behind her back. Kylo’s bed rocks dangerously when his newfound bedmate scrambles to grab the tray, sending dishes and cutlery flying to the floor. By the time the nurse turns back round and enters the room with her colleagues he’s yelling “_Iceberg!_” at the top of his lungs and furiously paddling the air.

“Mr Hux, you need to come with us. Mr Ren, I do apologise.”

A wheelchair is brought in and the man gently but expertly coaxed from the bed and made to sit on the chair. The last thing Kylo hears before the chair is wheeled out of the door is an enthusiastic “punch it!” He’s first left with an apologetic nurse who checks Kylo’s stitches and makes sure he’s fine, and then a surprisingly empty and silent room. It’s another half an hour before he’s discharged, and he spends it fidgeting and thinking about the odd afternoon he’s had. He regrets not getting the man’s name. The nurse said it but Kylo wasn’t paying enough attention to commit into memory and he knows they won’t reveal it to him. Oh well. It wasn’t mean to be.

The world is full of lean, tall, handsome redheads ripe to be plucked at Kylo’s will.

Kylo wishes he had something to throw to the opposite wall.

*****

Two weeks has passed. Kylo has mostly recuperated and put the odd little incident behind him. He’s back at work, although he needs to get up every now and then to walk around his office to ease the stubbornly aching ribs. He’s preparing to meet what will hopefully become his company’s new legal team, an up-an-coming duo of ruthless corporate lawyers calling themselves The First Order. Kylo has only ever met one of them, a formidable woman called Phasma who manages to make even Kylo Ren feel small. He’s convinced that with her on his side he’ll never have to go to court; all she has to do is to walk in a room and her opponents will wilt and yield to her demands in three seconds flat.

And the rumour has it that it’s Phasma’s partner who is the more ruthless one.

Kylo’s assistant informs him that the lawyers have arrived and are waiting for him in a conference room. Kylo shrugs his suit jacket on and checks his shirt buttons are still all present and correct. He leaves his office and walks down the corridor to the conference room, full of confidence and good humour. Phasma greets him when he steps inside, her sleet grey suit contrasted by her platinum blonde hair and ice blue eyes. Kylo refuses to be intimidated by her presence although a shiver does run through his spine when they shake hands. Phasma turns to introduce her partner.

The first thing Kylo notices is the jet-black three-piece suit on a frame almost as tall as him, albeit much thinner. The second thing is his thoroughly gelled ginger hair and sideburns so sharp they might cut the unwary. His eyes are pale, a curious mix of grey and green, intelligent and remorseless. “Armitage Hux,” he says, and Kylo can’t quite place his accent although it seems familiar somehow. “A pleasure to meet you, Mr Ren.”

“Likewise,” Kylo says. He shakes Hux’s hand and the way his hand disappears in Kylo’s grip makes him frown. “Have we met before?”

“I don’t think so.” Hux says, thoughtful, and looks at Kylo from head to toe. “Unless – no. I don’t think we’ve ever met before.”

There is something about him that bothers Kylo, but he pushes it aside when Phasma brings out the contract papers and they start poring over them. Coffee is brought into the equation and an hour passes until a mutually satisfactory conclusion is reached. Kylo’s assistant brings in champagne and Kylo only remembers having skipped lunch when the bubbles seem to float right to his brain, and he can’t stop grinning.

Hux checks something on his phone, and Kylo catches a glimpse of his background picture. It’s a picture of a housecat glaring daggers at the camera– it must be a housecat because Kylo doesn’t think wild cats are allowed as pets and this one looks like it could take down a wolf and not break a sweat. It’s orange and white and – no. No way. No _fucking_ way.

“Is that your cat?” Kylo asks, forcing the words out of his dry mouth.

Hux blinks at him, then tilts his phone in Kylo’s direction. “It is. Her name is Millicent.”

“Millicent,” Kylo whispers and then before his brain can stop his mouth, blurts out: “She looks nice. I like cats.” He cringes at the sheer stupidity of his words but Hux merely hums and pockets his phone. There must be something Kylo can say that doesn’t paint him as the idiot he actually is. Phasma saves him by reminding Hux that she has another client to meet and that she ought to leave soon. Kylo diligently ignores the amused smile tugging on her lips when she looks at Kylo and then says to Hux: “It’s a shame I won’t be able to make it to the restaurant. There’s no point in wasting the reservation – maybe Mr Ren would like to accompany you? To celebrate the deal?”

A line appears between Hux’s eyebrows when he gives Kylo another once over. His eyes flick over to Phasma and something unspoken passes between them. “Very well,” he says at long last. “Are you free in an hour?”

Kylo glances over to his assistant who’s already clearing his schedule. He makes a mental note to agree to the pay rise he’s asked. He flashes his award-winning grin to Hux. “Yeah. I sure am.”

*****

“I really do wish you’d put them back on.”

Kylo can’t read the expression on Hux’s face. It alternates between disbelief and amusement and exasperation. It’s been almost three months since they last met, after Kylo couldn’t stop running his mouth at the restaurant and told Hux about their first meeting in detail. Hux went silent, blushed hard and excused himself as soon as possible. After that all interaction has been with Phasma and Kylo has resigned himself into slowly accepting his fate as the greatest imbecile of his generation.

Until a case demanded meeting face to face and Phasma wasn’t available.

Hux is ever the professional, had not let any awkwardness of their past to interfere with his duties. Kylo, on the other hand, fidgeted and stammered through the meeting until he decided enough was enough and came up with a plan to even the score.

So here he is, stood in the middle of his own office, arms akimbo and his trousers around his ankles.

He’s never been more grateful of his decision of _not_ wearing his most beloved, threadbare Star Wars boxers or the little lace number he saves for special occasions. “Thank you, Dopheld,” he says to his assistant who has brought in more coffee and biscuits. The young man nods and sees himself out.

“Please, Mr Ren-“

“Kylo. Call me Kylo.”

“Please, Mr- Kylo, this really is unnecessary.”

“No. I have to do this. I, um, I would like to get to know you better. And I can’t let you keep on thinking that what happened at the hospital is something to be embarrassed about. Or that I’d hold it against you or something.” Kylo starts to open his shirt buttons but Hux’s raised hand stops him.

“All right, all right, I get your point.”

Kylo’s fingers are still hovering by his chest. He holds his breath when Hux seems to reach a decision.

“You really want to date me?”

Kylo nods silently, remembering how successful his last attempts at using words were.

A slow, wicked smile spreads across Hux’s face. “Very well. I must say I appreciate your effort. Although I seem to remember hospital gowns as a rule do not include any underwear.”


End file.
